


Plan B

by sahem62896



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Drugs, Multi, Murder Plot, Revenge, The Hole, Trust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2586503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahem62896/pseuds/sahem62896
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: What if Andrew Schillinger hadn't died in the hole?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plan B

**Author's Note:**

> This is still a WIP and when it's finished (which will be soon), I will have something more meaningful and "Augustus Hill-like" to say here. In the meantime, let's get the usual crap taken care of: I own the rights to nothing that rightly belongs to Tom Fontana or HBO. This is for fun.  
> \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

_"The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley…" —Robert Burns_

 

Beecher was hobbling back into Em City, sore and frustrated from his most recent round of physical therapy, when Keller caught up with him a few yards from his pod. It still made his his teeth grind every time he saw the duplicitous fuck approaching, but now it was starting to make him sick because Keller was getting less and less subtle in his servility. Every time he turned around, there was Keller making some exaggerated display of concern and kindness, and it was only getting worse as the days drew on. When was the son of a bitch going to get the hint? Even telling him that it could have been Good Ol' Toby who had shanked him a darkened storage closet three weeks earlier hadn't driven him away. Maybe Keller felt like it was just desserts. It didn't matter. He couldn't respect someone who was kissing his ass, even if he was helping him get revenge on Vern Schillinger.

"What do you want?" he grumbled.

"We've got a problem," Keller informed him.

"What?"

"Our little plan's hit a snag."

 _When the fuck did it become our plan, you asshole?_ Beecher thought angrily as he drew nearer to the door of his pod. "What kind of snag?"

Keller pointed, and Beecher turned his head to have a look. What he saw made his jaw come unhinged.

"Oh fuck," he said.

"Mmm-hmmm," Keller agreed. "Hope you've got something else up your sleeve."

He didn't, and Keller knew it too.

Curled up in a ball on the lower bunk was Vern's son, Andrew, newly returned from a six-day stint in the hole. He was pale and wasted, and the dark circles around his sad, narrow eyes were quite pronounced. He was rocking back and forth on the bunk, trying to soothe himself. Every once in a while, he would scrub at his eyes with the heel of his hand and sniff back his tears. Seeing him was a nasty shock. Beecher knew that nobody came out of the hole squeaky clean and cheerful, but the boy was supposed to come out in a body bag.

Everything had been going perfectly until now. He had convinced the stupid little punk that he had a friend in Beecher by comforting him through his heroin withdrawal and he had tormented the shit out of Vern by telling the Nazi fuck that while his relationship with Andrew was purely platonic, he couldn't guarantee that it would stay that way... not with Keller getting hornier by the minute and Andrew developing a little crush. With that out of the way, he sat back and let nature take it's course. It wasn't long before Andrew had publicly condemned his father and his supremacist ideas and had subsequently been thrown in the hole for getting into a physical fight with his father. As Beecher had expected him to do, Vern had seized the opportunity to slip the kid enough heroin to kill him under the premise that the kid was not only dead to him anyway for renouncing him but also in need of being saved from his archenemies' sexual advances. It would have been the perfect revenge.

But he never counted on Andrew not taking the dope.

Andrew looked over his shoulder, and when his eyes made contact with Beecher's, relief washed over him. Beecher cursed under his breath and then shuffled into the pod as fast as his damaged legs would permit. Keller trailed in behind him and lingered by the door as Beecher made his way over to the bed.

"Hey, you made it!" Beecher said, hoping that he sounded congratulatory rather than stupefied.

"Oh Jesus, man!" Andrew sobbed into his palms.

"It's okay," Beecher said, resting his hand on the boy's shoulder. He was trying hard not to grimace at the feel of the boy's damp t-shirt. The vinegary smell of his unwashed body was thick and gagging. "You're out of there now."

Andrew shook his head. "No, Beecher," he cried. "I'm fucked, man! I'm _really_ fucked!"

 _Not as much as I am_ , Beecher thought to himself, crouching down as much as he could and steadying himself with his cane. "What? What is it?" he asked, trying his best to appear calm and attentive.

Andrew leaned in close, his lower lip quivering. "I think Dad's trying to kill me," he whispered.

Beecher cast a glance over his shoulder at Keller who just stood at the door of the pod, observing the scene with his jaw set. _If he only knew that it was actually you trying to kill him_, said the look on the other man's face. He grit his teeth against the thought and then maneuvered himself around his cane. "Okay Andrew," he said, taking a seat on the bunk next to the kid, "tell me what happened."

"Well, you know that big hack? Lap-a-stree, or something?"

Beecher nodded. "Lopresti."

"Yeah, him," Andrew said. "Sometime after they threw me in there he came in and handed me something. And when I asked him what it was, he said it was a present from my father. After he left, I opened it and it was a tit... a real good-sized one too." The tears began to well in his eyes and he coughed out another sob.

"Holy shit" Beecher whispered, giving himself a mental Oscar for this performance.

"I didn't snort it though, man," he continued. His eyes were desperately pleading for approval. "I kept thinking about how you told me that we didn't have to kill ourselves to pay him back." He sniffed and then added, "You know... not to let him have control of our lives, right?"

 _Nice going, Toby... that's where you fucked it all up,_ Beecher thought, but nodded.

"So I kept tearing up the baggies and throwing the stuff in the shit bucket so that I couldn't get at it," Andrew continued. "It was really hard too, man, 'cause I was so hurt that Dad was trying to do this to me, but I... well... I guess I didn't even want him to have control over the end of my life."

"Good for you," Beecher said. _Bad for me._

"But man... I almost thought I could hear that shit calling my name!"

"But you didn't listen, kid," Keller said from the doorway. "Way to be strong."

"Exactly," Beecher chimed in while silently praying that Keller wouldn't open his fucking mouth again. This situation sucked enough without having to also admit that Keller was right; the kid was much stronger than either of them had given him credit for. Beecher knew in the bottom of his soul that wouldn't have made it on that idea alone.

"Oh Jesus, man, it was so fucking tough!" Andrew said, screwing his eyes shut and biting his lip. "I don't know if Lap... Lope... whatever the fuck his name is knew he was carrying out the shit every time he carried out that bucket, but he kept bringing me another tit... and another... and another.... and that's when I knew he wasn't going to stop until I...." The pitch of his voice rose until it was almost a squeal, and then he started to cry again. "That motherfucker! I thought he was so proud of me 'cause I was clean!"

"He didn't win, Andrew," Beecher said as he rubbed circles into the young man's back. _And neither did I_ , he thought glumly.

Andrew wailed into his hands again and then looked up at Beecher. His face was a miserable rictus of pain. "Oh God, I'm so hungry too!"

Beecher's gaze sharpened. "What did you say?"

Andrew heaved out a shuddery sigh. "I... I said I was hungry." The response came out sounding like a question. "It's been a while since I had anything to eat."

Beecher leaned in, this time genuinely concerned. "Wait... are you telling me that they weren't feeding you either?"

"They stopped giving me food when they realized I wasn't eating it," Andrew admitted after a pregnant pause.

It was incredible how any false pretenses evaporated as Beecher processed this new bit of information. Horror started to boil in his stomach. His eyes darted over to Keller. He hadn't moved from his spot, but his eyebrows were knitted and and he seemed to be standing up a little straighter. Yes, it seemed that Keller had heard that too, and was just as surprised as Beecher now was.

"Are you nuts? Why the fuck did you stop eating?" Keller asked.

More tears spilled out of Andrew's eyes. He swallowed. "Well... I just.... you know, kept thinking that maybe that hack was catching on that I wasn't taking the drugs because I wasn't dead or high in that cell. I started getting afraid that maybe he would try to put it in the food they were giving me."

 _God, this kid is smart_ , Beecher thought. _That never would have occurred to me either_. He wasn't sure if the kid was crying in terror or in shame after having disclosed this information.

"And then..." Andrew went on, "at some point, the food stopped coming... but not the tits." He looked at Keller and then back at Beecher. "It went on like that until they let me out."

"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed Beecher. "How long has it been since you've eaten?"

"I don't know."

Beecher couldn't believe his ears. For the moment, he had forgotten all his earlier outrage over his plan had unraveling. It definitely wasn't supposed to go like this. No fucking way.

"Don't go anywhere," Keller ordered as he opened the door and stepped out into the main quad.

"What's he doing?" Andrew asked as he watched Keller dart across the quad towards Cyril O'Reilly and stop the guy in his tracks.

Outside, Keller had placed his hand on Cyril's shoulder and pointed the other one back at the pod. Cyril bent his head a bit to the side and looked in the direction Keller was pointing. His face was turned up in worry but then again, it always seemed to be.

"I don't know either," Beecher said after watching for a couple of seconds.

Cyril's expression had not changed but his gaze had returned to Keller. A few seconds later he was nodding his head. Keller smiled back at him tightly and patted him once on the shoulder. Cyril jogged out of sight and Keller started to return to the room.

"Do you trust him?" Andrew asked timidly.

Beecher was caught off guard by the question and, for a moment, was at a complete loss for words. Of course, he didn't trust Keller. The deceitful prick had connived with Andrew's father to break his arms and legs. No way you could trust someone after that. The trouble was that Keller was atoning for it (in his own mind, anyway) by appointing himself a coconspirator in this plan to destroy Vern by getting the man to destroy his own son, and had been doing one hell of a job keeping things moving... such a good job, in fact, that it sometimes took the edge of the revulsion Beecher felt towards Keller and all his fawning. He hated to admit it, but Beecher had to acknowledge that up to this point, Keller's presence had made things a little better in this highly fucked up situation. But it sure disturbed him to realize that his was yet another case where Keller could be trusted when someone else's destruction was on the horizon.

Beecher was still fumbling for the right words in his mind when Keller strode back into the pod. He grabbed the chair that was pushed against the wall opposite the bunk bed, turned it around so that the back faced Beecher and Andrew, and straddled it.

"Okay, listen up kid," he said with the air of someone getting down to business. He lowered himself into the chair and rested his forearms on the back. "Whatever goes down from this point forward, you stay out of it. No fighting with anyone for any reason, least of all the Aryans. I don't give a fuck if they start it either. If you get in another fight, they're going to throw your ass back in the hole. If they do that, we can't protect you. Get it?"

Beecher felt his eyebrows rise. _ We can't protect him?_

Andrew swallowed. "Yeah, I get it."

"Good," Keller said. "That's number one. Number two is this: Stay visible in Em City. Be where the hacks and even the other inmates can see everything. No secret meetings under the stairs with anyone. In fact, don't go anywhere on your own. If you have absolutely have to, tell me or Beecher first and we'll at least keep our eyes peeled."

Andrew was now down to sniffs and hitches. "Okay," he replied.

Beecher blinked and wondered just how the hell it was that Keller had become the one calling the shots now.

Keller nodded. "Alright, now one more thing: no more worrying about someone spiking your food. The Homeboys run the kitchen and they're as likely to do your old man or any of the Aryans a favor as he is to do one for them."

"But what if the nig.... the Homeboys try something once they know who I am?" Andrew asked.

Beecher opened his mouth to say something, but Keller ran over him. "They're in the tit business too, and they're not going to waste any of their product on a kill."

Beecher turned a smoking hot glare on Keller. He knew that Keller could see it but was ignoring it.

Andrew, on the other hand was starting to calm down a bit as he received instructions. "What about O'Reilly, though? He works in the kitchen too and he used to deal to me."

"He's not going to try anything," Keller said, swiping at the air with his hand. "Especially after he hears about this."

"How d'you know?" Andrew asked.

"Because," Keller explained, "he hates Vern and the Aryans as much as the three of us do. They all raped his brother, Cyril, when he first got here."

"That retarded guy?" Andrew asked after a beat of silence.

Keller nodded. "Yeah, so trust me when I say that O'Reilly's not going to do one fucking thing to help them at all. Ain't that right, Toby?"

Beecher's features relaxed at the sound of Keller saying his first name — something he hadn't heard from Keller in a long time. For a moment Beecher completely forgot how betrayed and hurt he was, but then Keller gave him a very subtle wink. It was then that Beecher realized then that he was being purposefully softened up.

_Fucking manipulative bastard!_

Andrew turned to look at him, seeking some kind of confirmation. His eyes were asking the same question as before: _Do you trust him?_

"Yeah, that's right," Beecher said after he had squashed his outrage. "If anything, Ryan's only reason for selling you anything in the first place was because he knows your father is anti-drugs and it would piss him off." His eyes connected with Keller's and Keller nodded back. Beecher felt his lip twitch in anger, and once more he knew that Keller had seen it but had decided to unsee it. Maybe it was fair. After all, Beecher was now trying to unsee the shock on Andrew's face as the kid realized that he had been used as a pawn in a war against his father... by Ryan O'Reilly, anyway.

 _Atta boy, Toby_ , his mind said. _Don't just fuck it all up when you can really fuck it all up!_

There was a soft knock on the glass.

"Speak of the devil," Keller said, getting up from the chair. He turned around and opened the door for Cyril, who stood there with his arms wrapped around his abdomen. "Hi Cyril!" Keller said brightly. "Come on in, buddy."

Still looking worried, Cyril sidestepped his way through the door past Keller. As it closed behind him, he cast a quick glance at Beecher and Andrew sitting on the bed and then returned to Keller. "Are you sure Ryan's not going to get mad at me?" he asked. "He said I'd get in trouble if anyone knew I have these."

"Don't worry," Keller said, gently clapping him on the upper arm. "I'll explain everything to him."

Cyril swallowed and said, "Okay." With that he pulled up his sweatshirt and pulled out one of the bologna sandwiches that were sometimes served for lunch and a bottle of orange drink with a foil top. Holding one item in each hand, he lumbered over to the bed and stopped in front of Andrew with his arms straight out in front of him. "Chris says you need to eat."

Two pairs of eyes and two mouths opened wide in astonishment. The pair belonging to the younger man turned briefly to Beecher and then back to the giant with his simple offering. The other pair looked past Cyril at the thug standing behind him and began to smolder. The thug just smirked back.

Andrew reached up and took the sandwich and the drink from Cyril. "Thank you," he mumbled.

With his eyes still locked on Keller, Beecher jabbed a finger in the direction of the door. Keller got the message and put his arm around Cyril. "Now Cyril, me and Toby need to go have a little talk for a minute, so can you stay here with Andy and make sure he finishes all that up?"

Cyril's face lit up with delight. He'd clearly never been given this much responsibility before. "Yeah!"

"Great," Keller said and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Knew I could count on you."

Cyril blushed to the roots of his hair.

"We'll just be out front," Beecher said to Andrew who was already ripping the cellophane wrapping off the sandwich. "Get that food in your stomach and then we'll get your smelly ass to the shower before lockdown."

Andrew laughed a bit. "Okay."

Beecher patted Andrew on the knee twice and then grabbed his cane and pushed himself up to a standing position. Keller headed for the door and opened it as Beecher limped his way around Cyril. When he got to the chair, Beecher turned it around and pushed it until it touched the back of Cyril's legs. Cyril looked behind him, saw the chair, and promptly dropped into it with a thump. The pleasure with his assignment never left his face. Beecher sighed, wondering if poor Cyril had any clue that he was cheerfully feeding and babysitting the son of his rapist, and then continued. Keller was holding the door open and giving Beecher a little ground.

"Hey guys?"

Beecher and Keller turned and looked at Andrew.

"Thanks," he said. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

The rage in Beecher's stomach was still at full boil, but he smiled wanly nevertheless. "Sure kid."

"We won't be long," Keller said as Beecher shuffled past him.

* * * *

"You're a real sick fuck, Keller," Beecher said conversationally as the door closed behind them. "You know that?"

Keller's eyebrows went up. "Excuse me?"

"I see what you're doing here."

"Oh really?" Keller folded his arms and offered a wry smile. "What am I doing?"

"You're going to prag the kid so that Schillinger will kill him now, aren't you?"

Keller regarded him with disbelief, then shook his head. "Jesus, Toby, I thought people who went to Harvard were supposed to be smart."

"Ah, I see" Beecher said, holding up a finger. "Then you're pragging him to fuck with me because I'm not gushing with forgiveness for you. Is that it?"

Keller backhanded him on the upper arm. It caught the attention of one of the hacks who was strolling by, and he subdued them both with the snap of his fingers and a harsh glare.

"Sorry," Keller responded, holding up his hand. The hack regarded Beecher who simply nodded. The accusatory finger went down and he resumed his walk through the quad.

Beecher snorted. "Well, well. That's the Keller we're all used to around here."

"Fuck you," Keller said. "I'm trying to save this goddamn plan of yours from going down the toilet."

"And I'm still waiting to hear how."

"I'm not going to make a prag outta him at all," Keller said.

"Then you'd better explain what that's all about," he said, pointing into the pod where Andrew was gobbling up Cyril's sandwich.

"What's the matter with you, man?" he asked. "Didn't you hear him? He hasn't eaten in at least three days and he's just survived an attempt on his life."

"Wow," Beecher said with false admiration. "When did you get so fucking noble?"

"Oh please," groaned Keller. "I saw the look on your face when he told you that he hadn't been given any food towards the end of his time in the hole. If you hadn't been in Oz, you would have been grabbing a pen and a pad to jot down all the details for a lawsuit."

Beecher closed his eyes and then opened them again. Yes, that's exactly what he would have been doing.

Keller took a step closer and lowered his voice. "That kid's not your enemy," he said. "Vern is, and you're not going to get any further doing things this way. This little fuck-up should be enough evidence to prove it to you too. When he sees that Andy is still alive and looking to us for help, it's not going to take him long to figure out that he was set up."

Beecher looked back, saying nothing.

"That's why we're not pragging the kid or pretending to either," Keller continued. "'Cause I know you also saw how the kid took it when he found out that part of why O'Reilly was selling him drugs was to get back at his old man."

Beecher sighed and nodded. Keller was right about that too.

"Now I don't know just how much it's registered that he's being used in this war you've declared on Schillinger, but you can see that this kid's not a dummy so we're going to have to get him to think that he's on our side if you wanna keep going."

Beecher nodded. Although he was impressed with Keller's gift for quick strategy, he also couldn't help wondering if he and Schillinger had had talks like this while they were planning to break his arms and legs. It made his nostrils flare a bit to think that they had.

Keller said, "This is still salvageable, but we're going to have to try another approach."

"What's your plan?"

"I'm thinking about it," Keller said. "It won't take long. I've been in stickier situations than this and managed."

"I'll bet you have," Beecher sneered.

Keller bit his lower lip, trying to act as if the he hadn't felt the cut. "We can't just back out of this now. You're going to have to trust me."

"Looks like I don't have much of a choice."

"You'll see, Toby," Keller said, putting his hand on Beecher's shoulder. "You'll see."

"Take your fucking hand away," Beecher snarled.

Keller did so. It was another cut that went deep, and he wasn't successful at hiding the hurt this time.

"This isn't going to get you back in my good graces," Beecher told him.

A slow, sneaky smile spread across Keller's face. "Wanna bet?"

"You'll lose."

"I'm already winning."

"I fucking hate you," Beecher said.

The smile spread wider and transformed into that classic wolfish grin of his. "No, you don't," he said as he walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for Part 2!


End file.
